Wordless
by Arsosah
Summary: Some words are so hard to say. Some things hurt too much to share...
1. Accident

**Wordless**

**1. Accident  
**

I slow down, turn slightly to the right and park my car at the side of the road, hoping it won't be in the way when the firetrucks and ambulances show up. I don't have any other option, though; it's a narrow road, lined with deep ditches and dark trees.

I sigh while running my hands over my face - I'm not in the mood for this. The last day of the year, and it has not been an easy one with all the drunk people and fights and fireworks going bad. My shift will end in only - I look at the watch around my wrist - thirty minutes. Shaking my head to myself, I think it's just my own bad luck I was closest to the scene when the call came in over the radio. It's a fucking wasteland out here.

Peering out through the windscreen, all I can see is white flakes against the dark sky - it's snowing heavily tonight, unusual for Tulsa. More bad luck - I hate winter.

I have to brace myself before I open the door. Jesus, it's cold. My breaths come out in white puffs, and I rub my hands as I step outside, making sure I have everything with me.

I look up and see a man approaching me, moving carefully, his nose red and running.

"Officer?" he says slowly, like my uniform and car wouldn't give me away.

I close the door and turn to him. "You were the one who called? About the accident?"

"Yeah, my wife and me." He gestures at a small car parked on the other side of the road, about forty feet away. I think I can see a woman sitting in the passenger seat. "She didn't want to look closely."

"Bad, is it?"

He doesn't answer, just pulls at the hat between his hands. I have no idea why he doesn't have it on his head instead.

"Is it this way?" I say, pointing behind him. It's too dark - I can hardly see anything outside the blue lights I left on as a warning, so the others will know where to stop.

Without a word the man starts walking. I hurry after him, following him towards what must be the wreck.

"Can't see how anyone would survive it," he suddenly says, and I start to feel uneasy. This is not how I thought my night would end.

The road is covered in snow and ice. Just where it bends slightly, I see the tracks where the driver must have lost control of the car. I pick up my flashlight.

"Over there." The man points with his whole arm, and I see the car smashed up against a tree. The trunk has cut the hood in two and made the front wheels lift from the ground. I curse lowly to myself when I see it.

"Me and my wife saw it like that when we came drivin' by. Thought we needed to call, see?"

I nod. "A good thing that you did."

I have to go slowly, so I don't not slip on the ground. I expect the worst - not only because of the man's words, but because of how it looks. He's right - whoever is in the car must be dead, or else it would be a miracle. I'm not sure I believe in miracles.

I have to take a step down into the ditch, and I turn on the flashlight in my hand, holding it toward the driver's window while I steady myself against the metal. I wince at the sight. Yeah, the driver is sure dead. His blue eyes are open, staring dully; his chest looks to be crushed against the steering wheel. So much blood. He must have died on impact.

Not able to look for long, I move the light toward the passenger seat. A woman sits there, dark curls cover her face. I knock on the window.

"Ma'am?"

Not a movement. Not a sound.

I decide to walk around the car. I have to be sure.

"Any survivors?"

It's a new voice, strong, different from the other man who came to meet me. I turn my head to look up at the road. Another man stands there beside the first, his arms filled with blankets.

"I don't know yet," I say, strained. "You're a witness?"

"Nah, I live down the road." He gestures with his head. "They came knockin' on my door to use the phone."

I nod, start to move again. I just want to get this over with, to go home, have a nice, warm meal before toasting in champagne at midnight. Not think about the couple in the car.

The snow is deep, and I almost sink down to my knees as I struggle, but I reach the other side, tapping the window again. She still doesn't look up, and now I see the blood on her too. The windshield in front of her is smashed by a branch and glass has rained all over her.

I reach for the door handle, praying I will manage to open it. It takes three tries and all my strength, but finally I manage. I reach in, put my fingers against her neck to feel for a pulse. I get nothing. Her head just lolls to the side; she's ice cold.

I notice her dress and the pearls around her neck, that the man wears a suit and tie. They have dressed up for tonight.

"Happy new year," I mumble, feeling nauseous. Somewhere, people are waiting for this couple to celebrate the beginning of 1966, but they will never make it there. It's sad. I have seen a lot as a cop, but I will never get used to this. The pointless death.

I back away, planning to go up to the road while waiting for the ambulance, when I hear the sound. Someone whimpers, and I hurry to flash the light over the woman's face again. Still no movement - it can't be her. A sudden feeling of dread comes over me as I lean in a bit to take look in the backseat.

"Shit!"

It's a young boy, not much older than my own son at home. His head is tilted backwards against the seat, his eyes shut. Another sound slips out of him, and my heart races. That damn ambulance, where is it? I hold up the flashlight again.

"Son?" I say. "You awake?"

He doesn't answer me. I run the light over him as much as I can from my awkward position, but I don't see any visible wounds, just a bruise forming on the side of his face. I back out again to try the back door - it opens easily - and just as I reach him I hear sirens in the distance. Finally.

The boy doesn't stir when I gently touch him. He just sits limply, and I remember from my first-aid education to not move a hurt person. I look at his seatbelt, thanking all gods I know the name of that he used it tonight, or he would probably have followed his parents -

I stop short with my thoughts, getting an ache in my stomach. His parents. Who are sitting dead in the front seat.

I know I have to push it away. That's what I do, what we all have to do. Work professionally and let all the emotions come later. I blink, put my fingertips against his cheek again.

"Kid?"

"Mmm..." He opens his eyes; I see a glimpse of something green before he shuts them again. He moans a third time.

"It will be okay," I say calmly. I'm a goddamn liar. "Just hang in there, boy."

The road is filled with blue lights by now. Not only from my own car, but from the ambulances and firetrucks, too. I quickly stretch myself up to wave with my hand over the roof.

"Hey! Someone's alive here!"

I duck again, grabbing the kid's hand so he won't feel alone. It feels cold.

How old is he? Twelve? Thirteen? My Jake is eleven; I can't even picture him in a scene like this. I put my free hand's fingers into my eyes, suddenly feeling so grateful that my own family is home and safe.

I hear the snow crunch. Three men are approaching with some difficulty in the snow, carrying bags and a stretcher. I have to stand up and move away to give them room.

"How does it look?" The first man takes my place and starts working with the boy. He checks his pulse, then unbuckles him and opens his coat. "We have to fix his neck."

"What about the ones in the front seat?" A man in his mid-thirties walks past me and peers inside through the open door.

"Definitely dead," I say lowly, just in case the boy can hear me. It doesn't look like it, though, he's completely silent now. I hope he hasn't passed, too.

I watch the man lean inside the car, examine the woman, and I hear him sigh.

"Yeah," he says. "We can't help them."

Even though I already know, I grimace. Somewhere I had hoped I was wrong.

There's nothing more I can do here. I will just be in the way when they get the boy out if I stay, so I strive through the snow again, climb over the small ditch and up to the road. I lean down and brush away some of the snow from my trousers. My toes feel like ice cubes in my shoes.

I look up again and see that another cop car has arrived - I recognize officer Rogers standing beside it.

"Parker!" He eyes me as I walk closer. He must see something in my expression because his turns concerned. "You okay?"

I shrug. Rogers is a cop you can be honest with, and I'm thankful he will take over the case when my shift ends. He knows how to act with respect.

"Could be better," I admit. "Fuck, a kid lost his parents tonight. These damn roads."

Rogers grimaces. He's a father of three.

"So you got the night shift?" I say, just to take my mind off of things.

"Yeah. Go home."

"Soon."

"Go home, I say. Get some coffee to warm up. Play with your kid."

"Jesus," I swear, leaning up against his car, covering my face with my hands. I feel his hand on my shoulder, feeling bad for the need to be comforted. Who will comfort the kid in the car when he wakes up? Does he have any family? What will happen to him, if he comes out of this alive?

"Don't think so much," I hear Rogers say. "Parker?"

I drop my hands, stretch my back. Force myself to go back into work mood. "I'm fine. Just tired, it's been a long day."

xXx

The uneasy feeling won't leave me alone. I study my watch as I sit in the car, driving back into town. Twenty minutes after eight - I am officially free. If I could just stop thinking about the boy.

I drive steadily home, until I have to stop at a red light. Deciding quickly, sure that my wife will understand, I hit the gas pedal and make a U-turn on the empty road, to drive toward the hospital instead. I tell myself I just want to make sure he's okay before going home. I just need to know.

The hospitals glass doors open up for me, and I show my badge to the woman in the reception area, asking about the boy coming in by ambulance. She gives me directions; I follow them. Down to the ER, and a waiting room filled with people. Rogers is here, too, standing by one of the walls, writing in his notebook.

"How's the kid?"

Surprised, he looks up with a frown. "What the hell are you doing here? Your shift is over, go home to your family."

I shake my head. "I have to do this."

"Why?"

"Because I was there." I bore my gaze into his. He will understand. Some cases become personal, whatever we like it or not. Maybe I am a cop too close to my emotions, but right now I don't care. "I just want to know what will happen to him. Who were the people in the car?"

He sighs and shakes his head. "Goddamnit, Parker."

"Well?"

He searches into his pocket, finds what he's looking for and hands me a small card. I take it, look at it. It's a driver license.

"We found that in the driver's wallet. According to hospital journals, he had a wife and three kids. We suspect that the deceased woman was his wife, the boy his youngest. It fits with the age."

"Three?" I frown. I stare at the name, _Darrel James Curtis_, before looking up. "Where's the other two?"

Rogers takes the card back again, pocketing it. "Who knows? At home? The oldest of them will turn twenty in a couple of days."

"You going there? Tonight?"

"I have to."

I nod curtly. "I'm going with you."

"I have to find someone who can identify the bodies."

"You have to find someone for the kid," I correct him.

xXx

It's past ten o'clock when we park outside a little one-story house in a rougher area of Tulsa. The house is well-kept, though; the fence around it whole, the path up to the porch shovelled free of snow. A lamp lights up the porch, but the rest of the house seems dark behind the windows.

"No one's home," Rogers says, but he takes the key out of the ignition anyway.

"What did you expect?" I say. "Two teenaged boys." The words taste bad in my mouth. Christ, what a night. I can't believe I'm doing this willingly, coming with a message like this. How do you even say it? Which words will make it hurt less? I don't even think they exist.

"Well," Rogers says with a sigh, opening up his door. "Let's go."

We climb out of his car, and I take quick steps over the lawn. I doubt the sons are in there, though - it will probably be impossible to find them tonight. Maybe it's for the best - let them be happy until tomorrow. Let them have a great time with their friends for a couple of hours, before having to go to the morgue to identify their parents and visit their kid brother in a hospital bed.

I knock on the door and wait, not ready to spill the news at all.

Rogers looks at the neighbors houses. One of them sparkles with christmas lights in red and green, and it seems like a party is going on inside. "I'll go ask," he says. "Maybe they are there."

A bench stands on the porch, lined up against the wall, and I sink down on it, leaning my elbows on my knees. It has stopped snowing by now, I realize as I look out over the lawn. In the distance I hear voices, both happy and angry and drunk. I hear explosions from fireworks; sometimes they even reach over the roofs of the houses, showing cascades of different colors. The smell of powder hangs heavily in the air.

Suddenly a phone starts to ring in the house. I turn slightly before I rise, staring at the door knob. I know it would be wrong of me to go inside and answer, so I don't. I just listen to the signals - four, five, seven, until they silence again. The caller has hung up. Who was it?

Rogers come back, disappointed. "No one knows where to find them or if there are some other family around here. We have to come back tomorrow."

xXx

Rogers doesn't say anything when I show up early in the morning, at the end of his shift. He knows I'm off duty today, but he also knows why I'm here.

"Any news about the boy?" I ask, but he shakes his head.

"They won't say anything without the family there."

"But he's alive?"

"Yes, he's alive."

I didn't sleep during the night. I didn't have breakfast this morning either, but I sip coffee from my thermos as we drive.

"1966," Rogers says. "You think it's gonna be a good year?"

"Not for them."

I'm aware of the look he gives me from the corner of his eye.

"Listen, Parker -"

"I know."

"You've been a cop for a damn long time now."

I nod. "Twelve years this summer." I know what he means, what he doesn't say. He glares at a couple of young men walking by, giving us some obscene gestures.

"I thought of Jake," I decide to admit. "When I saw him."

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. I know I made a mistake yesterday.

The rest of the way we ride in silence.

A beat down truck stands on the driveway this time, and the light on the porch is off. This is it. I feel like a bastard coming here with what I have to tell them, even if I'm not the cause of it. I wonder if Rogers feels the same, because we both move slower than we did yesterday as we take the steps up to the front door. I hesitate a bit before I knock.

Nothing happens, and I knock again, harder.

Nothing.

I try a third time - they must be in there - and suddenly someone yanks the door open, stares at us with tired eyes. His hair is a mess and he smells of old beer. He's only wearing a pair of jeans, and his gaze turns hard when he notices our uniforms.

"What?" he spits, but there is an uncertainty beneath the harsh tone.

I have met his kind many times before. Angry young men, who only see the fuzz as bad; it's not uncommon in this neighborhood.

"Are you Darrel Curtis?" I ask, trying to sound as gentle as possible. He acts like he thinks I will arrest him at any minute now, but that he won't go without a protest.

"No," he mutters. We stare at each other, until he finally says his name. "I'm Steve."

Steve. That was not the name of one of the boys. The other's name is not hard to remember, actually. Sodapop.

"Are Darrel Curtis or Sodapop Curtis at home?" Rogers says patiently. I'm glad to have him with me.

Steve's eyes narrow slightly. "Why?" he asks suspiciously.

"Can you go get them?" Then I add, "They haven't done anything wrong, if that's what you're afraid of. We're not going to arrest them."

He rolls his eyes when I just mention he might be afraid, but he leaves the door and scuffles through the living room and down the hallway. I think that in a couple of minutes, maybe they all would have wished that I really had come to make an arrest.

Soon whispers reach us. "Is it about Dally or somethin'?"

"How the fuck should I know? They asked for you and Darry."

"Yeah but we didn't do nothin' yesterday."

"Just fuckin' talk to them, I want to go back to sleep."

A blond boy shows up, glancing at us with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. He wears similar clothes as his friend - only his is a pair of pyjama pants instead of jeans.

"Mornin' officers," he says with manners. "Um, you lookin' for someone?"

"Can we come in?" I ask, already holding the door. The boy blinks, looks down the hallway and then back to us.

"I guess..." he says with hesitation. His friend comes back with a big guy in tow - this one decently dressed.

"Darrel Curtis?" I ask, searching his gaze and get it.

"Yeah?"

I don't wait anymore. I step inside and Rogers follows, closing the door behind him.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," I say as carefully as I can. "You might want to sit down."

They all remain standing, staring at us. I take a deep breath. I guess I just have to get it done with.

"There's no easy way to say this so I will just tell you. There was a car accident last night, and your parents didn't make it. I'm very sorry."

The younger of the two turns his head to stare at his brother, who has paled visibly. He slowly moves to sit down in an armchair, putting a hand over his mouth.

The boy who must be Sodapop turns to us instead, his eyes wide and accusing.

"What? You mean... Mom and Dad... are they..." He stops, takes a step back. His friend quickly grabs his arm, as if he's afraid he might fall. And I must say that the boy looks ready to do it.

"Yes," I say gently. "Someone has to identify them but we are pretty sure -"

"What about Pony?" he chokes out, his voice thick now. Steve holds him close, glaring at us, like it was my words that made the accident happen.

I hastily remind myself of the kid's name. Ponyboy.

"He's in the hospital. I don't know about his condition, but he's alive."

Darrel breathes out, drops his hand. "You sure it's them?" he says lowly.

I nod. "I'm very sorry," I repeat, and I hear myself how bad it sounds. Sorry won't help now.

"What... what happened? When? Last night?"

"They lost the control of the car and it hit a tree. It happened somewhere after seven yesterday evening."

He stares at me, something hopeless in his eyes.

"You have any... family we can call?"

"No." He glances at his brother. "It's just us."

"We can drive you to the hospital," I offer, but he shakes his head at that.

"No. We'll take my truck. Soda?"

The kid is crying now, just standing there in the middle of the room, letting out choked sobs, the heels of his hands pressed hard into his eyes. His friend has placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression reflecting Darrel's.

"Soda, get dressed. Steve, help him." Darrel rises, seems not sure of what to do. He looks around in the room as if he sees it for the first time, strokes the palms of his hands against his jeans.

Steve drags Sodapop down the hallway, and then Darrel turns to us. "Thank you, officers," he says, toneless. "I appreciate that you came and told us, but can we please be alone now?"

There is so much more I want to say, for comfort, but I'm out of words. I know it doesn't matter now anyway. I can't take their pain away.

We turn to leave.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading :) This was supposed to be a one-shot from the beginning, but I have an idea of how to continue it. It will probably be Pony-POV.  
_

_If you have read my story "On a Long Road" I just want to tell you that I'm working on the sequel, I'm just not ready to put it up yet. Soon, I hope._

_I don't own The Outsiders._


	2. Ponyboy

**Wordless**

**2. Ponyboy  
**

It's so quiet after.

Dark and quiet and strange. All the sounds disappeared so suddenly - our voices, the roar from the engine, the ear-piercing screech when the car crashed against the tree - just gone as if they never existed. As if the whole world stopped when we did, the only things remaining this car, this darkness, this snow, this silence...

I lean my head back and stare up. I'm careful to move. If I do, pain shoots through my neck and down my spine. I was afraid first because of that, but I have clenched my hands and wiggled my toes so I think it will be all right. Something is wrong with my leg and arm, though. My whole right side is in pain. It grows worse every second.

The silence, too.

I listen but I hear almost nothing. Only my own breaths and the snowflakes hitting the roof with low, low thuds. It's almost amazing; such tiny, light things making so much noise. I didn't know they could do that before.

I don't hear anything else.

I don't hear anyone else.

I want to call out to them, Mom and Dad, but I don't; I'm too afraid they won't answer me. Where are their breaths?

Don't think about it.

Don't. It will be okay.

Don't.

So I only listen to the snow. Falling, hitting the roof over my head.

_Thud... thud... thud..._

xXx

I wake up and think it's summer. How ridiculous. It's so cold my teeth clatter. I'm not with my brothers and friends, playing football in the vacant lot. I'm not in the park. Not at the movies. Not running.

I glance out through the window, at the darkness and snow out there. Where is the road? I don't even know where we are.

I have a feeling Mom and Dad left. Walked away into the woods, leaving me alone here. But they wouldn't do that, they wouldn't just leave me. I must have dreamt it while I slept. I dreamt so much I don't even remember it all. But I wasn't _here_.

I'm still tired.

So tired. I don't want to be alone.

I move my head again and it feels better in my neck this time. I move my tongue, trying to make it work.

"Mom?"

It comes out as a whisper.

I bite my lip. It's so dark but I think I can see her in front of me, in her seat, she didn't leave me. I don't know why I thought she did.

It hurts really bad now. My arm and leg are on fire. I want to move them but I can't, want to go out and call for help maybe, because I think we need it. I try to lift my arm and reach for the door handle, but it won't obey me. Everything is wrong. I'm scared.

I want them to say I'm going to be fine.

"Mom? Dad?"

...

"_Mom_?"

My left arm works. I reach out, but before I touch her shoulder I see Dad. I drop my hand, fast, close my eyes, faster.

xXx

Moving. It was cold, then warm, then cold again.

It's warm now and they take my clothes, cut them off me. I don't want them to, it's my only pair of nice clothing, Mom won't like them destroying them. I know she told me to be careful because we can't afford new ones. But I can't say it, my tongue feels glued.

"_Son? Can you hear me?_"

"_Blood pressure normal, breathing a bit labored._"

"_We know who he is yet?_"

"_We believe his name is Ponyboy Curtis_."

"_Ponyboy?_"

"_According to the driver's journal he has a son born 1952, named Ponyboy Michael Curtis. It must be him._"

"_Ponyboy? Can you hear me? Open your eyes_."

Hands all over me. A light in my eyes when someone pries my eyelids open. I try to move away from the sudden light, but the stiff thing around my neck makes it impossible. They prod me everywhere. I feel a sting in my left arm.

"_The pupils are reacting normally._"

"_No signs of internal bleeding but we have to be sure._"

"_Bruising over chest and shoulder, probably from the seatbelt._"

"_Suspected fractures on right forearm and right leg. Possibly a knee fracture._"

"_Okay. He's stable. You can move him now._"

"_Call down to X-rays and get them ready for him. Let's go._"

xXx

Someone is stroking my forehead and it's Mom. She brushes my hair away from my face, and I turn my head against her without opening my eyes. I know I can't do that. Somewhere I know that if I do, she'll disappear.

She sits next to my bed, maybe smiling a bit because we all are okay despite what happened. Because nothing happened. Everything is like it should be. We're at home in our house and everything is fine.

My pain doesn't really fit in the picture I try to draw in my mind, though. Mostly it's in my arm and leg but the pressure over my chest is the worst. The feeling that makes me desperately want to cry. I have to concentrate hard on the hand to make it go away.

"_Pony?_"

It's not Mom.

I swallow, swallow, keeping my eyes closed, closing them even harder, but I can't close my ears. I hear their voices, near but strangely distant. There's a tone in them that was never there before, ruining everything I try to build up inside.

"_Is he still asleep?_"

"_I don't know. He just moved._"

I make sure to lie completely still. Completely still and silent because I don't want to know and I don't want them to know, either.

Someone shakes me lightly by my shoulder, taking me higher up to the surface. "Pony? You awake?"

No.

"Let him rest, Soda."

"I am lettin' him rest. I just want to see if he's okay."

"He's okay. He will be."

"I sure hope so."

"Don't worry. He's gonna be fine, they told us, right?"

"Yeah... shit, Darry... how are we gonna tell him when he wakes up?"

"I don't know."

"I still can't believe it."

He sniffs. I know Soda is crying. I can hear it. He grips my hand almost too hard.

"Soda..."

"This is fuckin' shit, man."

xXx

I don't want to look at them. I look out through the window instead, wishing I could turn my back to them and not just my neck. But that's impossible - I lie flat on my back, forced still by my right arm and right leg in casts. From shoulder to wrist, from thigh to ankle. My knee is totally busted; my arm is better but it's still broken.

"Pony, you listenin'?" Soda says so quietly.

No, I don't. I don't have to listen. I already _know_.

"It's about Mom and Dad, Ponyboy," Darry says. He puts a hand under my chin and force my head towards them. I hurry to close my eyes. "Look at me."

They don't understand. I can't look at them.

"Pony, in the accident. They..." Darry clears his throat. "Please look at me."

If I don't, maybe he can't tell me. But his hand remains under my chin, and I feel it tremble. Or is it me?

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter what they say either.

"I know," I mumble. I lift my arm, my left, the one without a cast, and place it over my eyes so they won't see. "I know."

The hospital is not a silent place. I hear sounds from everywhere. From the hallways. People talking, coughing, sometimes screaming. Mostly kids. I hear cars outside. The world exists again, it didn't stop at all. Now I wish it had.

_Be quiet, Ponyboy._

I press my lips together.

"Pony?" Darry says. He removes his hand and grips my wrist instead, moving my arm away from my face. I let him. "You know?"

I have to look at him now. His ice blue eyes are so sad. I let my gaze flicker over to Soda, who sits with his elbows rested on my bed, his hands linked together over his mouth. He breathes slowly into them, stares at me. I look back at Darry and nod.

I know.

I saw them.

I couldn't hear them.

I was there.

"You know they... won't come back?"

I nod again. People usually don't come back when they are dead.

Dead.

Mom and Dad are dead.

I start sobbing. The sobs start in my chest and rip themselves up my throat and out through my mouth. I can't stop them. I can't stop the tears. I wish I had both my hands to cover my face, but I have none, because Darry is still holding my wrist, just looking down at me, helpless, as I cry.

Soda moves, and suddenly he's there, over me, close, holding me, and he's crying too.

xXx

"It's going to be okay," Darry says lowly, trying to soothe us. "They will let you stay with me for now. I'll be your guardian."

Soda sits beside me in my hospital bed, the cord from my IV resting over his legs. It's cramped, the space tiny, but I don't want him to sit anywhere else. There have been so many people coming and going. The worst, the woman from Social Services.

"What do you mean, for now?" Soda frowns.

"I mean they said there will be check-ups now and then. Once a month for starters, to see that everything is all right at home."

"And if it ain't?"

Darry holds his gaze steadily, looking between us. "We have to make sure it is, okay? Behave in school, get good grades, don't get into fights..."

"Christ, Darry!" Soda mumbles.

"I will start work full-time tomorrow so I can handle the bills. We have to help each other with cleaning and laundry and dinner."

Soda glances at me but I look down at my arm. It itches under my cast, really bad. I have scratched at my shoulder and fingers sticking out, but it doesn't help.

"What if someone fights with me, then?" Soda says, looking back at Darry. "You know how the Socs are."

"Just try, Soda."

"You know my grades are bad, too."

Darry crosses his arms. "So make sure you study."

"Yeah, but -"

"What do you want me to do? I got custody, but this is what they said. I have to take good care of you or they will take you to a boys home instead!"

I flinch, but they don't notice.

"You know I ain't good in school! I didn't have good grades before either!" Soda protests. "I don't get why that's important."

"Don't argue about this."

"I'm not! I'm just sayin'. It's unfair if they take us because I can't get A's."

"You can get A's if you just try."

"But if I don't? You mean they will take us then? That it would be _my_ fault?"

I hold my breath as they fight. At Darry's words, and Soda's.

How long can I go without air?

xXx

"Tell you what, Pony," Two-Bit says where he sits in Soda's chair. "It was Johnny here who picked it. I saw some with much more interesting pictures on the covers but he said this one. So don't blame me if it's wrong." He turns his head and shoots a look at Johnny, who smiles carefully at me.

I slowly pick up the book Two-Bit tossed in my lap._ The Hobbit_. I have already read it, but I don't say that. I don't know what to say. Johnny is quiet too, but Two-Bit has talked for all of us since he stepped into the room. It feels weird that they are here.

Now and then I glance at Soda and Steve in the corner. I don't know what they are saying, but Soda is upset. Maybe he still thinks he will go to a boys home because of his grades.

"They feed you good?" Two-Bit wonders. "I've heard that when you're at the hospital, you get Jell-O every day in every color."

I smile a little, shaking my head. Not in _every_ color. Just red or yellow.

"No? That's too bad. But you get Jell-O, right? I mean, that would be the greatest part of bein' here. No Jell-O... well, I can't even imagine."

I look at Soda again. Steve says something to him, and he nods, shoving his hands down into his pockets.

"Darry's at work?"

I force my gaze back to Two-Bit. Even though he's smiling, I can see the look in his eyes. They all have it. They all know what happened to our parents, but they don't speak about them. I was afraid they would, but they don't.

I nod at his question. Darry dropped his college night courses pretty fast, and went from part-time to full-time at the construction company where he and Dad worked. He had to. I feel bad about it, but I would feel worse if I had to go to a boys home. For Soda's sake too.

"So..." Two-Bit drums his fingers against his knee. "It's, um... you doin' all right?"

I glance at my casts and he follows my gaze. He grimaces.

"They itch like hell, right? Remember when I broke my ankle? I ain't sure you do, I was only..." He turns to Johnny. "What was I? Nine?"

Johnny shrugs. "I dunno."

"Yeah. Nine. Fell out a tree. I could tell ya the whole story but that would take all day."

I don't say anything, but I think I do remember. I remember drawing with my crayons on his cast. I don't want anyone to draw on my casts, though. I want to forget I even have them.

Half an hour later, everyone except Soda are shooed out of the room by a nurse, with orders for me to rest. I see Two-Bit saying something to my brother before he walks away, and I see Soda looking at me.

I drag the cover over my head.

xXx

I wake up and find Soda sitting beside me again. He helps me to sit, propped up against pillows. His brown eyes are too serious as they study me, trying to bore themselves into mine.

"How do you feel about goin' home?" he says carefully. "I heard the nurses talkin' about that. That you might go home soon."

I think about it for a while. What would it feel like?

Mom and Dad won't be there. Their bedroom will be empty, the door closed. No smells from the kitchen where Mom used to cook and bake. No Dad coming home from work, slamming the door and wondering about our days. Just me and Soda and Darry. It will feel strange. Bad. I will hate it.

"It won't be easy with your casts," Soda continues.

I guess he's right. I can't use crutches. We have steps up to the front door. Using the bathroom in the hospital is embarrassing, but at least it's not my brothers helping me. I would need help at home. I make a little grimace at the thought.

"And what about school," Soda adds after a while, sounding tense now. I look at him a bit confused. He stares back at me. "What about everythin', Pony?"

I don't know what he means. I shrug weakly with my left shoulder. I don't know about school. I think it has started again now, after winter break. I don't have so much track on the dates, but it feels like I've been here forever. It must be a week. At least a week. Or maybe not? I try to count but it's hard. The first days I mostly slept.

"Are you in pain?"

I shake my head slowly. I'm not. I get stuff for that.

"Tell me how you feel then?" He throws himself back in the chair he sits in. "Just tell me, Pony," he urges.

I look away. I can never tell him how I feel.

"Why don't you talk? Two-Bit said you didn't say one word to him and Johnny."

The lump in my throat returns.

"It made me realize you don't say a word to me either. You said some stuff the first days, but now you don't say anythin'."

He waits, but I can't.

"C'mon... just say somethin'." He leans forward again, eyes hard. "I know you can."

But he's wrong. I start crying, I can't help it. I cover my face with my good arm, but I know he already saw me. I hear him rise.

"I'm sorry! Pony, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, okay... ?" He jumps up beside me and drapes an arm over me, mumbling into my ear. "It's okay. You don't have to, it's okay! I'm sorry! I won't nag about it anymore, I promise!"

But it's not. It's not okay. Nothing is okay anymore.

xXx

In the evening, a nurse comes into my room and says she will take the IV out and from now on I will have to take my pain killers by pills. She asks if I have any problem swallowing but I don't answer her. She doesn't care.

She presses a cotton ball against my arm as she takes the IV out and says to Soda to hold it there while she rips a bit of tape so she can fasten it on my skin.

It's quiet again when she's gone.

Soda picks up a pack of cards, flips it between his hands, turning it over and over and over. Now and then he glances at me, but he seems so uncertain of what to say. When the door opens up again, we both jump high, but it's only Darry coming back. He removes his jacket and throws it in the corner.

"You guys okay?" he says, eyeing us. It's like he senses that something is wrong, because he frowns.

Soda sighs. "We're fine. How was work?"

"Cold." He meets my gaze, and I look down.

"You want coffee?" Soda tosses away the cards, rising. "We'll be right back, Pony."

He takes Darry's arm and drags him out with him, leaving the door slightly open. I just breathe.

I know he will tell him.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading, I hope you like it. Sorry if I did something wrong with the hospital-talk, I admit I didn't do any research about it. _

_Please review :)_


	3. Sodapop

**Wordless**

**3. Sodapop  
**

Out in the corridor I start to pace. All these thoughts in my head are making a big mess, I don't know how to sort it out. It's just gives me a headache when I try.

Darry narrows his eyes while watching me. "Soda, what's going on?"

"He ain't talkin', Darry!" I stop, turn to face him. "I tried to make him say somethin' but he just cried."

"Pony?"

"Yeah. He ain't talkin'."

"About the accident?"

I shake my head in frustration.

"No. I mean he _ain't talkin'_! He doesn't say one word! About anything!" I put my hands behind my neck. I know I probably don't need to panic about this, but it's too hard not to. I have been trying to think for more than an hour, ever since Two-Bit made me aware of the obvious. I can't believe how I could have missed it before. Pony has always been quiet but not like this; I can't even remember when he last spoke. This is bad.

"I don't know what's wrong," I burst out. I back away, gnawing on my lip. I wish I had a cigarette to calm me down with. "What if somethin's wrong with his head or... or somethin'."

"There can't be. You know they did X-rays."

I lean myself against the wall, staring up at the lamps lining the ceiling. Yeah, I know about the x-rays but what if they missed something broken in Pony? What if he _can't_ talk? It feels like this is all my fault, like I have failed him. He is my responsibility now, since Darry has to work so much and can't be here during the days. I was supposed to focus on him, to take care of him, and I didn't.

"He's still in shock," Darry tries.

"I get that," I snap. We all are, but we still talk.

Darry ignores my bad mood. "So he doesn't say anything? Not at all?"

"No, I told you. I asked about goin' home and school and he just sat there. Two-Bit said he didn't say one word to him and Johnny either."

Darry sighs and drags a hand over his mouth. He already looked like he has aged ten years, and now my words add to it.

"Did you talk to his doctor about this?"

"No, I just noticed."

"Maybe we just need to give him time." It sounds like he tries to convince himself. "Think of what happened. He must have seen them when they-" He quiets and swallows. He doesn't continue, but he doesn't have to draw me a picture. Shit. I put a hand on my stomach, feel how it starts to ache. It has cramped now and then, ever since the fuzz showed up at home to tell us.

"You okay?" Darry says worried when I crumple, so I nod quickly and stretch up again. He shouldn't have to worry about me too.

"I'm fine." It's a lie. I rub my forehead, stare along the corridor to the elevators leading down to the cafeteria. "I need somethin' to drink. I can, uh... bring you some coffee if you want."

Darry eyes me quietly. I think he sees what I can't say, because after a while he nods.

"Thanks. I could really use one. Strong. With sugar."

He never has sugar, but I don't say anything about it. Nothing is like it used to be anyway.

"Sure."

He gives me one last glance before he leaves to go in to Pony. I wrap my arms around myself for a moment, before turning around and walking toward the restrooms. Inside I pick the stall with the cleanest floor, lock the door behind me and slump down on the cold tiles. I drag my knees up and hide my head in my arms. I wish I were somewhere else, so I could just... scream. I don't know how Darry does it. How he manages to take care of everything. He went to see Mom and Dad, to see if it really was them who... I can't even think the thought to the end. I can't even imagine what he saw, whan Pony must have seen that night.

I rise my head and put the heels of my hands into my eyes, gritting my teeth. I don't want to go through this, don't want it to be true. I lash out a foot and kick hard into the wall in front of me. The wall is thin but the sound echoes loudly in the room. I freeze, holding my breath, but no one bursts inside, no one asks what the hell I'm doing. It seems like I'm alone in here.

Suddenly nausea hits me like a punch in the gut. I just have the time to open the toilet lid until I throw up in to the bowl, hurling and spitting only bile. Pony doesn't talk, and I forget to eat. This is just great. I slump down again, breathing ragged and short while wiping my mouth with my arm. I don't know how long I sit there before I'm able to drag myself up and out, to wash my face over the sink.

Thirty minutes later I push the door to Pony's room open with my elbow, my hands filled with one cup of coffee and two bottles of Pepsi. Darry sits next to Pony, who seems to be asleep, but with just one look I know he's faking it. He's too still and quiet. He doesn't know it, but he always makes all these noises when he sleeps now. Trashing his head and moaning.

Darry takes the cup from me, and I put the bottles down on the little side table on the other side of the bed. I watch my little brothers face, the big bruise that stretches over his cheek and eye; more green and yellow now than blue. He looks so young. He's too young to live without parents, he's not even in High school yet. How am I supposed to take care of him, I'm not like Mom and Dad. I'm too reckless. Too irresponsible. Just look what happened with him talking, look at him now; he's pretending to sleep so I can't push him into something he doesn't want to do.

"We have to plan for the funeral," Darry says suddenly, breaking into my thoughts, and I flinch. I clench my hands and push them hard down into Pony's mattress.

"We need to bury them," he continues. "We can't let them just... lie there. It's been over a week."

I swallow and look down at Pony again. He has gotten a little wrinkle across his forehead, and I think that he is either straining himself to listen, or the opposite.

"It's a lot of planning. Church, coffins, music..."

I grimace, take a step back and rise my hands. "I can't do this."

"Soda -"

"We're burying our _parents_, Darry! How the hell are we supposed to do that? They shouldn't even be dead!"

Pony makes a little noise, and I quickly shut my mouth. I stare at his face again, and so does Darry, but Pony doesn't move, doesn't say anything. I wonder if Darry understands that he's awake. Probably not. He just puts a hand against Pony's temple, and when he doesn't stir, he looks at me again.

"They can't stay in the morgue, Soda. I know this is awful but we have to."

The pleading tone makes me feel terrible. I notice how he is holding the cup of coffee so hard his knuckles turn white. It must burn his palm, but he doesn't let go. Suddenly I remember he only just turned twenty; a birthday we forgot. We're all too young for this. I can't continue putting everything on him, he has enough as it is. Hell, he even gave up his life for Pony and me. I know how important school is for him, and now he might never be able back. Not until Pony is an adult.

I shove my hands down into my pockets. I know I have to try to be strong, for both of them. I can't go on like this.

"That... um, that church, you know, that little place close to the bus stop? The white one?"

Darry eyes me. "Where Mom and Dad took us sometimes when we were kids?"

"Yeah. That one."

He nods slowly, then put the cup down.

"Okay."

xXx

I tear the tie away from my neck and throw it in the snow. My face feels stiff with dried tears - I bawled like a baby in church, but who cares? They were my parents, I had the right, didn't I?

I put the cigarette between my lips again, inhaling as deep as I can. So many people came. So many, I didn't even know half of them. The gang, Dad's co-workers, Mom's friends, neighbors. Some just curious, staring at us. Staring at Pony and his casts with pity. Staring at Darry and whispering about how he's going to make it. Some seemed sure that he won't, but they are wrong. We'll prove them wrong.

It's cold outside, and I shiver in my shirt and trousers. Why can't it fucking stop snowing? I glare up at the sky, like that would help. I hate it. Hate the whiteness, the coldness. I can't help but think of icy roads and trees, Dad losing the control of the car, wondering what they thought just before -

Our back door slams shut and I jump high, whirling around, but it's only Steve. He sits down on the back steps and hauls out a pack of his own, shakes out a stick and lights it. He doesn't say anything, just watches me silently. Not until I flicker away my butt, he puts out his own against the sole of his shoe and talks.

"You wanna get out of here?" he asks.

"Go where?" I mutter.

"I don't know. Out somewhere." He rises.

I think for a second, and then I look up at him and nod.

"I just have to go and change."

He follows me inside, sits on my bed as I drag off my costume and get into my old jeans and shirt again - so much better. Maybe I can forget about the whole day now, about everything.

As we head through the living room, I glance at Pony who is sitting on the couch, with his broken leg resting on the coffee table. Johnny sits next to him, watching a TV show Pony seems to ignore. I don't know what to do with him; he still doesn't say anything, just nods or shakes his head at questions. I'm not sure if we should drive him back to the hospital or not - he was released this morning, just before the funeral, but I know he's not all right. Maybe he still should be there.

As I hesitate, Steve tugs at my arm.

"I guess I have to tell Darry that I'm goin'," I say, taking a few steps and then stopping.

"He already knows."

I look back at Pony, not sure I can just leave him, but he only stares in front of him like he's not even here. Steve drags at me again and I let him.

Two-Bit stands in the driveway when we come outside, leaning against Steve's car. Dally is nowhere to be seen, but I never saw him go home with us in the first place. I think he took off right after the ceremony.

The ceremony. Our parents funeral.

Ponyboy.

I stop again. "Steve, I can't."

He frowns, holds out my jacket he must have grabbed on the way out, then shoves it in my arms when I refuse to take it at first. I stick my arms through the sleeves while he's trying to convince me.

"He'll manage an hour without you. You've barely left the kid's side!"

"You know damn well why."

"Yeah, and I know you need to get out of here before you're go crazy. Just go for a ride, okay?"

"Steve -"

"Christ, Soda!" He glares at me, and I sigh, feeling how I am giving in. He's right.

"Only a short one, then."

"Fine."

xXx

Our house is so quiet in the evening. It feels so wrong, just the three of us sitting in the living room. I'm not sure we are ever going to get used to this. I'm not even sure I want to.

The recliner squeaks as Darry leans forward.

"I need to do some grocery shopping. Anything you guys want?"

Pony only averts his gaze.

"No," I say. Then, "Yeah. Chocolate cake mix."

Darry rises an eyebrow, and I frown at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Fine, I'll get you some cake mix. What about you, Ponyboy?" The last comes out strained, and I know it's because he doesn't expect Pony to answer. And he doesn't. The silence radiating from him is palpable.

"Cigarettes and Pepsi?" I say, before I remember Pony hasn't smoked a stick since the accident. It's kind of weird. I stare at him until he glances back at me, nodding a little. At least he still responds.

Darry rises and picks up his wallet from the back pocket, checks its contents with a sigh.

"We have to be careful until my first full salary."

"I have some money."

He shakes his head. "I don't want to use your money, Soda."

"Shit, Darry," I snap, suddenly irritated. "It ain't _you_ using my money, okay? It's our money, and _we're_ using it. You said it yourself, we have to stick together."

He looks like he wants to protest, but I interrupt him before he gets the time.

"You rather want us to starve, is that it? 'Cause I tell you, if you don't take my money, I will go grocery shoppin' for them anyway. Got it?"

He gives me a half looped smile. "Fine, then. But I don't need them tonight, okay?" He grabs the keys from the table and walks up to the door.

"Drive carefully," I say as he takes on his jacket, and he nods, walking out into the snowfall.

I look back at Pony, who seems a little paler now than before. I almost want to curse myself; why can I never keep my mouth shut?

"He'll be all right," I try to soothe things over, but I think it's too late. Pony just keep glancing out through the window, and the darkness and snow out there.

Ten minutes later he starts to seem uncomfortable. He's clenching his hand, glancing at me instead while biting his lip.

"Darry's okay," I say. "It takes at least an hour before he gets home."

Pony gives me a painful look. He opens his mouth and closes it. Something's wrong.

"What is it? Are you in pain? You want me to get your painkillers?" I'm halfway up from the couch when he grips my arm and quickly shakes his head. He looks so unhappy.

"You have to tell me what you want!" I urge, scared now when I see tears in his eyes. He sniffs once, and squirms. I go desperate. "Pony, you have to tell me!"

I want to shake him out of that silent state. Images flash through my mind, that something bad will happen because I don't understand. Is he hurt, or sick, or -

"I... I need to go." It comes out raspy and almost as a whisper, and my heart beats so hard when I hear his voice. I fall back to sit in surprise, almost gaping at him, my mind screaming at me that he finally,_ finally_ said something. I want to hug him so hard, and my eyes go wet as well, but I know I can't push him. He talked, but I remember at the hospital, when I tried to make him do that. I won't make him cry again.

"You mean go to the bathroom?" I say as calm as I can, ignoring my high pulse, and he nods, turning red.

This time he doesn't stop me when I rise. I lean down so he can put his good arm around my shoulders, and then I move the table so he can stand up.

"You okay?" I say when he grimaces, and he nods again.

It goes slow, but we manage to move - me walking, Pony hopping on his good foot - through the living room and hallway. I wait for him to say something else, just anything, but he doesn't.

"Darry helped you before?" I ask, because he has been home for ten hours. A silent nod again. He avoids my eyes as I help him with his pants, but I don't know why he feels so embarrassed about it. We're brothers, it shouldn't bother him.

When he's done, I take him to his room to lie down a bit. He looks awfully tired, and I sit down in his chair, watching him as he falls asleep. I put my elbows on my knees, leaning my head in my hands, still frantically thinking - shit, he actually spoke! A part of me almost thinks I dreamt it, but he really did it. At least I know now that he still can, he just chooses not to, but why? I don't get it. I wish I had been smarter, then maybe I would.

I lean back, pick up one of his books lying on his desk, flipping through it. It's just a lot of text, no pictures, but I guess he doesn't read those kind of books anymore. I start from the beginning, but the letters don't make any sense to me right now. I would never stand reading a book for hours, like Pony does. Did. Right now, he never does anything more than stare and keeping his mouth shut.

I sigh, toss the book back. Pony moves his head slightly, from side to side. I hope he doesn't have any nightmares. He had some at the hospital, making both me and Darry flying up from our seats. I wait, tense, but nothing happens. Nothing until the front door slams shut and Darry comes home.

I go out to the kitchen. Darry just places two bags on the counter, looking up and finding me in the doorway.

"Want to help me unpack?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Milk, egg, cereal, bacon, cake mix ... I weight the package in my hand, then determined place it on the table and start rummaging the cabinets over the sink for a bowl.

"Where does Mom have the -" I interrupt myself, closing my eyes hard and leaning my forehead against the crook of my arm. Shit.

Darry clears his throat. "Down there," he points, his voice hoarse.

"Sorry," I mumble, closing the cabinet door again and open the one just close to the oven instead.

Darry puts food into the pantry. "We can talk about them."

"Yeah, I know. I just... it's hard."

"It will take time to get used to this."

I find a bowl and pick it up, cradle it in my arms as I turn to him. "Pony talked," I burst out.

Darry's eyes widen some. "He did? What did he say?"

"Just that he needed to go to the bathroom." I put the bowl down next to the mix packet. "I kinda... I guess I didn't know what he wanted, you know? But at least he can talk."

"You really thought that he couldn't?"

I shrug weakly. "I don't know. He has always talked to me before."

I watch as Darry unpacks the last of the groceries.

"Darry?"

"Yeah?"

"Will it be okay? I mean, we can do this, right? We won't be sent away or somethin'? Even if Pony is like he is?"

Darry looks at me seriously. "We can do this, Soda. I won't let them take you away."

I swallow down the lump in my throat and nod.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading and reviewing :) I really appreciate that you take your time and tell me what you think.  
_

_I hope you don't mind the switch of POV's. I won't write everyone's though, and some will be the same. It's actually the first time I write different POV's for each chapter so I really hope it works!_


	4. Steve

**Wordless**

** 4. Steve**

"So... will you go back to school again?" I ask, trying to sound casual while opening the hood of my car. I need to take care of the strange sound coming from the engine before it breaks down completely, but I hope it will be an easy fix. I throw a glance over my shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess. As soon as Pony can go back, you know?" Soda wraps his arms around himself, sniffing a bit in the cold weather. He looks away, a distant look in his eyes as he stares down the street.

I struggle a bit to find something to say, but I end up being quiet, biting my tongue as I turn back to my car. It's not that I can't talk to him, but sometimes everything I say just comes out blunt. He doesn't need my sarcasm right now.

There are times I want to step into his house and shake some fucking sense into the kid. I have no idea what his problem is, but I know Soda is taking it hard. And I know I'm probably being unfair - they just lost their parents, damnit, and the kid was there. I get it. I've kind of lost my mom too, but hell, life's harsh. It's just the way it is. There's no reason to stop speaking like that.

"Need any help?" Soda steps up to stand beside me.

"Nah, I got it." I glance up at him. "Is Darry home today?"

"Yeah." He grimaces a little. "He's talkin' about gettin' a second job."

"Doesn't he work full time already?"

"He says it ain't enough. For the bills and stuff." He sounds a bit nervous, and I know it's because the state is breathing down their necks. He doesn't have to say it.

"Hm." The words leave me again, and I frown. I pick up the wrench and a rag from my back pocket.

"So I was thinkin'... you got any openin' at the DX?" Soda wonders.

I look up again, in surprise this time. "You think Darry wants to work at a gas station?"

He actually cracks a smile at that. "No, genius. I'm talkin' about me. I thought maybe I can pitch in too. It can't hurt."

"After school?"

He hesitates for a second. "Yeah, after school. Maybe you can ask your boss?"

"I have a pass tomorrow," I say. "If he's in, I'll talk to him then."

"Great. But, um, I can't start until Pony is better." His smile disappears just by the thought of the kid. I eye him warily, but he just turns his gaze away again.

"Fine," I say. "I'll tell him that."

xXx

School is never fun, but it's worse when Soda is absent. I have people to hang out with, so it's not that, but we have shared classes since kindergarten. It's just strange, is all.

I push open the door to my math class, walk quickly down the aisle and drop my book on an empty desk, before dragging out the chair and sitting down.

"I'm glad you could join us today, Mr. Randle," Mr. Williams booms out over the room, and I roll my eyes, catching a glimpse of the clock on the wall. Only five minutes tardy - what's the big deal?

With a sigh I open my book and tap my pen against the page. I know I'm not stupid, but sometimes I don't get why I need to know things about History or Biology or fucking Algebra. I work with cars, and I'm damn good at it, too. I doubt Mr. Williams knows anything about them; he acts like his fucking letters and numbers are everything in the world that count. He doesn't know anything about real life, that's for sure.

As he stands with his back to the class, writing a math problem on the black board, the guy in front of me turns around in his seat.

"Hey, where's Sodapop?" he whispers loudly.

I stop tapping. "Why?" I mutter.

"I heard somethin' happened to his parents during Christmas break. That they died, or somethin'."

"What have you got to do with it?"

"I'm just askin'. He's my friend too."

I lean forward, bore my eyes into his. "If you were his friend, you wouldn't have to fuckin' _ask_ what happened!" I snarl.

"Hey! Boys in the back, be quiet please!" Mr. Williams says loudly. I ignore him, continue to glare at the guy until he turns to face the front again.

When class finally ends I head up to the teacher's desk as the others leave.

"What's the problem now, Steve?" Mr. Williams sighs without looking up, just continuing to put his stuff into his portfolio.

"It ain't no problem. I'm just here to get Sodapop's homework."

Mr. Williams turns his head while taking off his glasses, and his facial expression changes. "How is Sodapop?"

I know Soda flunks in this class, but for some reason Mr. Williams likes him. I guess it's hard not to. Most people do.

"He's fine," I say a bit strained.

"Do you know when he will come back?"

"No."

Mr. Williams gives me a look.

"Maybe in a month," I mutter. "His brother is still in casts and stuff."

"I see." He opens a drawer, picks up a paper. "Here are the pages he needs to work on this week. I have written the explanations I think he needs to know for the assignment. He has someone at home who can help him?"

"Yeah, no problem." I take the paper quickly. I hate answering questions about Soda, a bit afraid of saying something wrong. I don't want him to get in some kind of trouble in school or with the state. I know Darry had a hard time being allowed to let Soda stay home with Pony during these weeks as it is.

"Give him my condolences."

"Yeah. Sure."

Out in the corridor, I fold the paper and put it in my back pocket, before going to look for Two-Bit and Johnny.

xXx

The house is quiet as I step inside. I catch the door with my hand so it won't slam shut, then close it carefully after me.

"Soda?"

There's no answer and I look around the living room. The kid is lying on his back on the couch again, his good arm over his eyes, appearing to be asleep. There's a big pile of school books on the coffee table, and I walk up to it, studying them. All the open notebooks have Soda's handwriting in them; even the ones belonging to Pony.

I sit down in the recliner, nudging his shoulder. He stirs just a little.

"Hey, kid? Where's Soda?" I ask.

He moves in a way that makes me sure he's awake, but he doesn't look up.

"I asked you a question," I say, and his breathing gets deeper, as if he's trying to trick me that he's asleep. I sigh, lean back for a while before I get too impatient. I rise to look around in the house, doubting Soda would leave the kid alone at home. But the kitchen is empty, and so is every room I look inside. There's no sign of him anywhere.

Frowning I go back to the living room.

"Pony?" I say loudly, and this time he lowers his arm, glancing up at me. "Where's Soda?"

He looks at the front door.

"He went out?"

He nods, struggles to sit up and, with another sigh, I go and help him. I grab his legs and swing them over, putting the casted one up on the table. A few books knock over and fall to the floor, but I ignore them.

Ponyboy rubs his eyes, then scratches his right shoulder with a grimace.

I sit down on the table, facing him. "Well? Where did he go?" I urge.

"Just out," he mumbles, not quite meeting my eyes.

"He didn't say where?"

He shakes his head, his mouth clamped shut now, and I take it that he won't say anything else. At least I got two words out of him. I get up again, cross the floor and walk out through the door, and this time I don't care if it slams. I grab my pack of smokes and light up, and I can't help but feel a bit worried. I don't get why Soda would leave like that.

I blow out smoke while pacing the porch, and when I turn around, I suddenly see someone standing on the curb down the street. I squint my eyes - yeah, it must be Sodapop. It looks like him. I raise my hand, but even though it seems like he's looking this way, he doesn't answer. With a curse I leave the porch and start walking toward him.

"What are you doin'?" I ask when I get closer, and it comes out harsher than I had intended it to.

He only looks at me, hands down into his pockets.

"Pony's home alone you know," I enlighten him.

"Yeah I know. I'm just gettin' some air."

"And you couldn't get that from the fuckin' porch?"

He almost glares at me. "What, I ain't allowed to leave the house now?" he snaps.

"I thought you were supposed to look after the kid!"

I wonder a bit why the hell I care. Because I don't. Soda looks away and I feel the worry increase - this is not like him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"Like hell it's nothin'," I burst out, and he slumps visibly. He starts to kick at the snow drift lining the street.

"I don't know, okay? I guess I just go nuts sittin' home all day."

"You could talk to Darry -"

He turns around quickly, facing me. "No! I can't talk to Darry. And you can't tell Pony."

"Tell Pony what?"

He doesn't answer me first, just stares in the direction of his house, but then it comes.

"I hate leavin' him but I just had to. I don't know what to do. He hardly says anythin' and I just... I get frustrated. I'm bored." His eyes find mine. "That's bad, ain't it? My parents are dead and I get bored sittin' home with my kid brother. My _hurt_ kid brother." He shakes his head for himself.

"Soda -"

He takes a deep breath. "You know what? Forget it."

"Maybe you should -"

He interrupts me again. "I said _forget it_. I have to go home. You comin' too?"

Without waiting for my reply, he starts walking. I hurry after him, determined to not let him continue like this.

xXx

"I ain't sure I want to," Soda says some days later, but he takes the new washed jeans Darry hands him.

"Just go out and try to have fun."

Soda looks grim. "What about Pony?"

"What about him?"

"I can't just leave him."

Darry sighs. "I will be here, and Johnny said yesterday he would come by tonight. He'll be all right."

Soda looks down at the clothes in his hand. I can sense him debating with himself, and I have to bite my tongue to not bark at him to stop being like this.

"Go take a shower now," Darry persuades gently before he leaves. He doesn't close the door after him, and Soda looks at me.

"You don't know how to keep your mouth shut do you?" he says lowly, but he doesn't sound so angry. I go into defensive mode anyway.

"It's not like Darry don't notice how you're climbin' the walls here without me telling him!" I retort. "Don't be so stubborn."

"I'm comin', ain't I? So stop naggin' at me."

As he disappears into the bathroom, I walk out into the living room to wait, sitting down in the recliner. The kid watches some comedy show on TV, but he doesn't really seem to know what's going on. His eyes are dull, and he blinks slowly, not even cracking a smile at the jokes.

He looks a lot thinner than he did before the accident. He was an annoying little brat before it happened, but now I frown, not knowing what to think. It's been over a month, shouldn't he snap out of whatever he's in to soon?

The shower starts running, and Darry comes, stopping on the floor in front of the TV. Pony should ask him to move out of the way, but he doesn't.

"Pony?" Darry says, and he raises his gaze, looking up at his older brother. "Did you read those pages in the book like I told you?"

I see the kid swallow, his eyes searching over the coffee table. Awkwardly he picks up one of the school books with his left hand, placing it on his knee.

"Homework on a Friday night?" I can't help but remark, and the book slips out of his lap, landing with a thud on the floor.

Darry moves to pick it up, handing it back to him with a scowl at me. I force myself not to roll my eyes. Christ, sometimes it feels like I'm walking on egg shells in here. Why not wrap the kid up in cotton even more?

"I have some laundry to take care of," Darry says. "Okay, Pony?"

He nods, holding the book in place with his casted arm this time, flipping through it with the other, while Darry turns off the TV and leaves.

Since there's not much else to do, I lean back to watch the kid as soon as we're alone. He notices it, glancing at me now and then, but most of the time he just stares down at the open page. It's obvious that he's not reading and, for some reason, that annoys me. He's supposed to be so smart.

I pick up my pack of kools, taking out a stick and rolling it between my fingers. I know not to light it indoors, their Mom's words still hanging in the room like every time someone forgot. When I raise my gaze, I noticing Pony staring at my hand.

"Want one?" I say.

He looks away.

"If you want any, just say it. Nobody here knows how to fuckin' read minds you know." I hold out the cigarette to him, but he doesn't take it. Instead he just sits there, biting his lip.

Giving up, I put the stick back in the pack. I don't feel like smoking anyway.

xXx

"Please?" Two-Bit says, unscrewing the cap of a pen where he sits on the couch next to the kid. "Just one word? A tiny, tiny picture?"

Pony shakes his head. "No."

"What?" Two-Bit wonders. "No word, or no picture?"

"Don't draw on it."

I turn my head back into the kitchen where I stand in the doorway. Soda bounces between the fridge and the stove and the pantry, picks up a spoon from the drawer and put it in one of the pans. He has been in a better mood since he started to leave the house now and then.

"Wanna taste?" He turns to me, the spoon lifted. I gesture with my head.

"The kid's talkin' now?"

"More than before at least." He says it casually, but I can see how he tenses. "Just hope he'll do that tomorrow too."

"What's with tomorrow?"

He shoots me a nervous glance, putting the spoon on the counter. "State visit. First time."

I feel the blood rush in my skull. "Shit."

He turns off the stove and wipes his hands on the kitchen towel, even though I know they weren't wet. "Yeah." He takes a breath. "Darry says it's gonna be okay, though."

"They gave him custody. They wouldn't do that if they had doubts about it." I try to sound convincing, not even able to picture my best friend living somewhere else. It's enough that his parents are not around anymore.

"Maybe."

"You ain't goin' to a boys home."

Soda just gives me a tired look. "Dinner's ready," he says then.

"Right." I hesitate a bit, thinking I should go and take Two-Bit and Johnny with me, when Soda takes down five plates from the cupboard and shoves them into my hands.

"Set the coffee table, okay?"

"Uh, you sure..?"

"Yeah, Pony sits better on the couch than on a chair."

"I mean this many?" I hold out the plates, and he looks at me a bit confused, then suddenly raises an eyebrow and grins.

"You don't want to eat my food?"

"I know about the money situation."

"It ain't that bad. We can feed you once in a while, no problem." He glances out into the living room, lowering his voice. "Darry's workin' late tonight and I... I mean, it's just so quiet. Without Mom and Dad..." He trails off, clearing his throat. "Just stay, okay?"

xXx

It's dark in the house when I get home. I dig out my key from my pocket, slowly turn it in the lock before I brace myself and open the door. I sneak inside, close the door silently behind me and make my way to the living room. The TV flickers soundlessly, lightening up the big bump snoring on the couch. I study the empty bottles sitting on the table. Well, at least we won't get into a fight tonight.

I leave the living room to go into the kitchen and open up the fridge. I take out a beer bottle, bite off the cap with my teeth and spit it out. I take a swing, feeling the cold liquor run down my throat. Life is fucking strange. Look at my dad. Look at Johnny's parents, how they act against him. Look at Dally's, even though I have never met them. No one would really care about any of them, no one would fucking cry in church if they were gone.

But it just had to be Soda's. Nothing's fair.

I go to my room and sit down on the mattress on my floor. I put the bottle beside me and start to untie my shoes, dragging them off along with my socks. A new swig. I usually don't drink during weekdays, knowing I have to put some effort in school so as to not fluke, but right now I feel like getting drunk. One bottle won't do it, though, and I won't dare steal more from Dad. He'll notice. Shit.

Without taking my clothes off, I lie down on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I hate thinking too much, but my thoughts drift by themselves, to the day Mom decided to walk out on us. I know where she lives. I know I have a whole bunch of half siblings running around in that fucking house. It doesn't matter I haven't talked to her in over ten years; I still remember how she went out and never came back. Could as well have been a wreck, right? Feels like it.

There's a strange hardness in my throat, and I blink, quickly wiping my eyes with my sleeve. I lean up on my elbow to grab the beer again, and down it in one long drag. Then I rise to go get another bottle.

Who cares about anything anyway?

* * *

_So... I'm not really sure how this came out; I'm not used to write Steve. A new experience! I just hope I managed to catch his voice somewhat okay...  
_

_Thank you so much for reading! :)_


End file.
